


Pains of Change

by JValentino



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Humanformers, Sort Of, Transformation, im not sure what else to tag, prowl is the only human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29537922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JValentino/pseuds/JValentino
Summary: After stumbling across a strange technology, Preston finds himself in possibly the strangest situation of his life. But everything is fine. Nothing he can’t handle, right?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Pains of Change

Before now Preston had paid no mind to the stranger developments of the world. Especially not the strange mechanical beings from off-world. No, he had much more pressing matters to attend to. 

For example, his unit had received the paperwork for a new case. Several tech firms (often working with the Autobots or their technology) had found themselves involved in a series of hit-and-run thefts by large groups of unidentified origin or affiliation. Thus Preston had been requested to work off the current data to aid in staging a trap to catch the next attack. 

Based on both the aims and exact nature of the crimes (property damage to anything either not valuable or unable to be taken) as well as the geographical profiling Preston was able to pinpoint the most likely next target. 

Now he could barely remember most of what happened. Between sitting nearby his unit to the echoes of gunfire and crackling walkie talkies, everything else after that became a blur. Frantic movements, commands issued sharply between teams. He couldn't remember who went where. 

Separated from his group he spotted a gaggle of men attempting to pull something away from the rest of the group and out a side door. Without wasting another moment he took off, following them and catching the door before it shut. 

The room was small and rectangular, dimly lit with no other immediately discernible exits. The something they had been dragging away turned out to be a wooden box, light shining through the spaces where the wood fit together. From the sounds it was making there were clearly several things inside it. Standing around it the four individuals swore at each other in a heated argument. 

“Hands in the air.” He cut through the chatter calmly, levelling his weapon at them. “Remove your weapons and place them on the group slowly.” Three of the individuals slowly began to pull things out of their pockets, dropping them to the floor and stepping away. The fourth one had yet to move or speak. In fact they had not spoken the entire time. 

In a sudden rush of movement they bolted to the wall, the box swept up into their arms. Without pause they raced straight through a gap that Preston had not noticed earlier. No sooner had he moved he was gone, enveloped by pure darkness of the tunnel-like hallway. 

Upon the other officers bursting into the room Preston called out, “stay with these three while I go after the fourth,” before taking off after them. 

The walls either side of him pressed in uncomfortably, making the progression down the slim walkway slower than he would like. Dirt and rocks scuffed against his uniform, leaving marks he would need to deal with later. As he began to think this was leading nowhere the space suddenly opened up wider and spilled out into a new room.

Although it was still dark old, battered lights did still brighten it into more of a gloom. Metallic, mostly empty shelves lined the room in rows set apart from the wall, leaving space to walk down the middle. It was bigger than the last room but seemed much older in comparison. Standing at the opposite end of the room was the fourth man, clearly fumbling with something as he stood in front of a larger door. The box, seemingly forgotten in that moment, sat beside him. 

“Stop.” He calls sternly. The man jolts in surprise, nearly dropping whatever he’s holding. Stiffly he stands, holding his arms up. Thoughtlessly Preston steps closer.

An arm twists round, holding a small cylindrical object. The flash blinds him. Buzzing fills his ears, his body dropping to the ground. The scrabble of shoes against the floor echo around him before fading out of ear shot. 

By the time his sight has returned to him the man is long gone, not even leaving a trail. The only thing left is the box, pushed behind a shelf but clearly visible in and does not fit in with the others present. With little other option he reaches for the box and carefully tugging it open he reaches inside.

Several small objects are scattered around, tangled and unorganised. What he can recognise are the odds and ends of computer parts, a few old cassette tapes alongside some discs. The rest he doesnt recognise, either too broken or unfamiliar to him. In the furthest corner another box sits, much smaller. Around the edges a glow gently seeps out. 

Plucking up the box revealed a now severely dented lock on the front, battered in the ruckus most likely. It takes little effort to flip it open, the flimsy metal latch almost breaking away too easily (he ignored the feeling of wrongness that realisation brought him). Inside there was mostly emptiness except for an oddly shaped object. Preston reaches for it, wanting to investigate it further.

White, hot pain burns through his veins, scorching his skin raw. He’s suddenly hypersensitive, aware of every brush of sensation against his body, sending him into an overload of information his brain can’t process because he’s feeling things he shouldn’t be able to. Like he has an extra limb, an extra sense, his body isn’t his own. He couldn't see (when did he close his eyes) but he could see. 

He stumbles without moving, palms finding flat metal and peeling walls. Something creaks, reverberating through his senses, blasting cool air onto his body. His limbs feel almost hollow, as if they cease to exist before snapping back into focus and bearing the sensations around him. 

There’s nothing else outside his body. Thoughts and emotions flicker wildly, fading away underneath a sea of sensation. But he does recognise one feeling. Not quite fear but nearly as thick, cloying against the inside of his chest. He does the only thing he can actually think.

He runs. 

Blatantly he realises, quite detached, he has no idea where he’s going. Beyond the door he sees another warehouse, through which the open air greets him. Helicopters travel overhead, focused away from him. Voices call out, words with no meaning to ears that stop existing every other pulse. He can’t hear the sounds, not really, but he can feel them still. 

Running, running, running. Slip on wet pavement as he skids around the corner, moving further and further away from the warehouses and out into the darkness. He doesn't realise how far away he is until his body gives out, collapsing to the ground inside an unfamiliar but blessedly abandoned building. It’s there he finally takes stock of what’s actually happening.

Shivering on the floor his limbs seem to stretch around him, filling more space then he should be able to. Further down his torso something twists inside of him, sharp, stabbing pains spreading outwards. A prickling sensation travels out across his flesh (or at least, what he thought was his flesh), seeping beneath the layers of skin and settling on his bones. The heaviness weighed him down. 

Pain blooms from the center of his head, splitting his skull apart like talons scraping against his skin trying to escape. Through the torment his body rebels against his wish to scream, the sound catching against his throat; silencing him in mute agony. 

Somehow the oddest part of the experience isn’t the half sensations, the pain of the senses he should not have. It’s the impression of weightlessness deep within his chest. Swirling peacefully, unaware of the torture occurring around it. It feels like home. 

Condensation cools against him. It takes Preston far too long to realise he is still alive, even longer to notice the pain had stopped. Laying on his back there was no energy left inside him to will his eyes open. Reaching up he tried to run his hand down the length of his face, only for his palm to land against something jutting from his face. Feeling further proved more confusing.

Jutting from his forehead upwards sat a blocky protrusion, fairly short and blocky. On either side more protrusions were affixed, longer in length but around the same width of the centre before thinning and tapering off to sharp tips pointing upwards. Whatever they were they were solid, unbending even as he investigated them.

Confused, Preston continued his investigation by bringing his other hand up to the rest of his face. Strangely it did not feel like skin. Rather, the act of tracing his fingers over his face did not feel the same. The sensations registered by his nerves were different. It was not that he couldn’t feel the imperfections in his skin; it was that they were gone, as if sanded and smoothed out. 

(His mother might have once said he had skin to die for. Not that it mattered much anymore).

Mustering up the energy he rolled swiftly onto his side, leveraging himself up with one hand as the other rubbed his tired eyes. Blinking them open. Blurry vision snapped into focus, giving definition to the silvery white and black blob from before. Strangely he could see a hand with fingers spread to balance someone’s weight.

Wait.

Travelling upwards Preston took note of every edge, every contour of the offending thing. Noting every edge, every seam. How things fit together. The appendage (it looks like it would attach to something at least) continued in his sight, before reaching a shoulder. Only when his other hand, moving to touch the thing, came into view did the realisation fully hit.

Stumbling back he hit a pillar behind him, rocking the cement and littering himself with falling dust. Legs outstretched before him, attached to him and his body (not really his body). His not-body shook gently, wracked with his shivers. He couldn’t think, couldn’t begin to explain what this was. What it even could be. Some elaborate prank? Dreaming? Nightmare? 

He couldn’t be dead, right?

No, he argued. He was never injured. In pain, yes, but he hadn’t been physically harmed during whatever happened. At some point he must have blanked out though because there was no way he could have missed this. Right? 

Trembling hands rose up. Fingers were spread out, twisting around as Preston surveyed the new body. Pale, silver hands swiftly shifted into ebony from the wrist over his entire forearm before shifting again to a soft, daisy white shade. In fact upon further investigation most of the body (not his body, his not-body) was made up on sections of these colours. 

Strangest of everything (which, considering the situation, was surprising in itself that anything could get more weird) were the wheels connected to his feet, settled into the space as if part of the leg. Further up his torso stuck out by a few inches, decorated by glassy fixtures either end. He can’t fathom what they’re for. 

He pulls away from observing his not-body. Better to get a grip with the rest of reality before dealing with whatever this is. Leant against the pillar Preston surveys the area. Pillars stand from ceiling to floor in rows, equidistant and spread through the whole space. Even in the dark he can (somehow) see faint lines outlining rows of spaces. So presumably a parking lot. 

He couldn’t recall where the closest car park was in the area. Or if there even was one around. Their teams had planned to park in separate areas since there weren't any big enough spaces for them all to meet up and prepare. His eyes widened. His team! 

Scrambling up Preston clutched the pillar for balance. The limbs of his not-body ached, shivering like that of a newborn deer. The floor seemed to sweep away from under him, almost dizzyingly far away. If he remembered how tall indoor car parks had felt before, he must have gained more than a few feet in height. 

Raising an arm he could touch the ceiling. With the perspective change the area didn’t feel as big so much as it felt more empty. Somehow he felt that didn’t make sense but most things were not making sense. He could afford himself some liberties. 

There were no lights on, presumably due to the abandoned condition, and therefore meant he couldn’t see. Except that was another detail that didn’t make sense. Perhaps not in full colour, but he could make out the outline of the whole floor. All the deteriorating painted lines. And the outlines of a structure in the centre: most likely either the lifts or payment machines. Or both. 

Night Vision then? At least that is something he’s fairly familiar with and at least knows it already exists. He can work with that, considering it could be anywhere close to or past midnight by now. The rising chirps of distant crickets made his not-skin crawl. He would never usually be out this late for anything not work related. 

Shuffling across the room he finds himself leaning his head out into the darkness beyond through the slats of space in the walls. Blatantly he realised the mass of vague shapes before him were probably trees if the rustling was anything to go by. This was far from any town or city by the sounds of it. He couldn’t make out any lights in the distance either. 

There were not many options currently available to him. He could attempt to travel back to the nearest civilisation but that could prove to be too dangerous. Especially considering he doesn’t remember how he got here. And he still wasn’t sure exactly what was happening to him. He may well be spotted on his way home and reported to local authorities. He could be taken into custody. Investigated. Worse, experimented on. 

With a start he realised he was in danger no matter where he went. 

No. There was an easy solution. Keep out of the sights of humans and any other sentient people and find somewhere better to stay. In the meantime that gives him space to figure everything out, maybe even to fix this. Nodding to the empty room he smiled slightly. Perhaps everything was not lost.

Striding with purpose he journeyed the length of the floor up to the small room containing the payment machines. Although he had no chance of fitting inside (unless he planned to pull the ceiling off) he could safely lean against it. It felt more secure than laying against a random pillar. 

His hands settled in his lap. Resting his back against the windowless wall, even as stressful as the night had been, Preston found exhaustion brought sleep easily to him that night.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an au that spawned from a discord convo with a friend! There’s no strict schedule or plan for this fic so much as writing on the fly in a sense.


End file.
